


Peaceful

by bepreparedf0rhell



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bepreparedf0rhell/pseuds/bepreparedf0rhell
Summary: In which you can't sleep.
Relationships: Jim Root/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Peaceful

**Author's Note:**

> I've just had this idea nagging at the back of my mind for a long time and I sat down to write tonight and it just kind of flew out of me. So here it is.

You gasp awake, an already-forgotten nightmare sill gnawing at your brain just enough that you can’t manage to get back to sleep. Fully awake now, you reach blindly beside you. 

Jim isn’t there, which isn’t a surprise. Especially when he’s working on something, he rarely actually makes it to the bed the two of you share. Instead, he usually falls asleep in various uncomfortable-looking positions on couches or even the floor. You’d learned years before not to wake him no matter how ridiculously unsettled he looked; you loved him with all your heart but he tended to have the bad attitude of a toddler when woken prematurely. 

Sighing and hauling yourself out of bed, you grab a nearby blanket and drape it over your shoulders, venturing into the dark house to try and find him. You shuffle through the house making your way to the place he most likely is: his garage music studio. 

Sure enough, as soon as you open the door you’re slammed in the face with a heavy guitar riff. You squint into the sudden bright light of the studio, moving across the room and settling into one of the plush couches. 

Jim’s sitting at his makeshift recording setup hunched over a guitar with various open notebooks on the desk in front of him. There are a pair of big headphones shoved down over his pile of golden brown locks and you don’t think he’s seen you come into the room. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t pull his concentration off of whatever it is he’s doing, so you just sit there and contentedly listen to him play for a few minutes. 

No matter how many times you watch him like this, in his own world where nothing matters but him and the guitar in his lap, you’re always left in awe. He’s almost a machine, his fingers moving unfathomably fast, bending sounds and fiddling with pedals all while looking barely fazed by the whole thing. 

When he’s finally finished, he pulls the headphones off and runs a hand through his hair. He stands and stretches out his long limbs, and you’re just starting to wonder how to approach alerting him to your presence without scaring the pants off of him when he turns to you and smiles, somehow clearly having known you were there the whole time. 

“Can’t sleep?” he questions, crossing the room to you with his guitar still in his hand. You shake your head as he sits down with you and leans the guitar up against the end of the couch. 

“I had a nightmare,” you tell him quietly. Somehow, just the few minutes you’ve been in his presence have calmed you enough that you’re feeling very sleepy once more. 

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod. 

“I’m okay now.”

He nods back at you, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His green eyes are bright despite the fact that it’s well into the middle of the night and you know there’s no chance of him coming to bed any time soon. You resign yourself to just staying in the studio with him to be near him and cuddle back into the couch a little more. 

He smiles and leans into you, catching your lips in a languid kiss. Butterflies whip around in your stomach at the gesture and you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back until you absolutely have to stop to catch a breath. He smiles again, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. You close yours too and just sit there with him like that for a few moments, soaking it up.

“Sing to me,” you instruct him eventually, and he immediately starts shaking his head. 

“No,” he says even though he’s already pulled away and is reaching for his guitar. 

He doesn’t like to sing, doesn’t think he’s any good at it, but he’ll usually bust it out for you when he’s feeling extra sweet or when you seem to particularly need it. 

He’s helped soothe you after many panic attacks, helped calm you after many nightmares, helped you fall asleep on many sleepless nights by quietly singing you whatever popped into his head. It’s one of your favorite things he does - that this man with his impossibly tall frame and beautifully rugged features will just bust out whatever song he can think of to help calm you and make you feel safe. 

“Please,” you whine, dragging out the word. You know you sound like a petulant child but don’t entirely care, especially because tiredness is quickly flooding over you.

“Nope,” he says, even though he’s already strumming chords on the guitar lazily. You’re not sure what he’s playing, you don’t recognize it, but it doesn’t matter. You pull your blanket tighter over your shoulders and lean on his arm heavily. 

He kisses the top of your head as he starts to play a little more steadily, seeming to find the pace he was looking for. You still don’t recognize the tune but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes are already feeling heavier as he starts singing the words a moment later. His voice is small at first, timid almost, but then he seems to find his confidence and leans his head on top of yours as he continues to sing. 

You stay awake as long as humanly possible, soaking up every ounce of peace and calm you can. You don’t care what he says - you think he has the most relaxing and comforting singing voice in the world. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispers just as you do finally drift off, kissing the top of your head again.

**Author's Note:**

> wheresyoursavior.tumblr.com


End file.
